Is there any genre more inconsistent in its treatment than romantic films? On one hand, we have films that are all froth and fluff, unrealistic from the get-go. On the other end, you have your pain-ridden odysseys acting as a gateway for catharsis. One is sheer escapism, the other a polarising poke into the pus-filled warts of human experience. There is an uneasiness so distinct after watching Baby, a lot of the appreciation I have for this film comes from the very uneasiness it effectively evoked in me. But how can one appreciate something that makes you feel uneasy? Maybe it is some degree of novelty, combined with a congruence to a certain strain of reality. Maybe the existence of ‘feel good’ cinema conversely implies the existence of ‘feel bad’ cinema, for Baby, easily earns itself a distinction in the latter category.
Director – Sai Rajesh
Cast – Vaishavi Chaitanya, Anand Deverakonda, Viraj Ashwin, Harsha Chemudu, Nagababu Konidela
For a film that deals with something so intimate and humble in scale — first love, growing up, infidelity, heartbreak and regrets — Director Sai Rajesh mounts it with an assured grandeur. The music of the film, composed by Vijai Bulganin, helps immensely, elevating the story even when the actors are struggling to find their feet. Not so long ago, this exact feat was achieved by composer duo Ajay-Atul for Sairat, a Marathi adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. But Baby is far pricklier in comparison. The movie has three leads and the makers intentionally name characters after their real names. Vaishnavi Chaitanya plays Vaishnavi, Anand Deverakonda is Anand and Viraj Ashwin’s character is called…you get the drift. If Jeo Baby’s The Great Indian Kitchen wanted to convey to its viewers that they are narrating the tale of *every* Indian family by not naming their characters, Baby takes a different route to arrive at the same location.
What gives Baby its edge is the way it presents two varying arguments about the film’s central love story at the same time. Sure, this is the story of many, if not every couple but, more often than not, these couples also believe they are exceptional, their love story is but the greatest in the world. Sample this song from Baby whose lyrics say, “Mana katha lanti maro katha, charithalo undadhantane…” (There is no story as unique as ours, history will stand proof to it). There is an echo to this display of exceptionalism on a more personal level when Vaishnavi declares, “andaru veru, nenu veru” (I am not like everybody else), which is followed by Anand rudely replying “andaru porilu veru kaadhu, andaru okkate.” (all girls are the same).
The exceptionalism of the characters is balanced by an inquiry on identity. As Vaishnavi leaves her ghetto to a swanky private engineering college, we see her self-esteem crack as she gets ridiculed about her dark skin and her economic background. We see her family, a cranky, insecure mother and a well-meaning but emotionally absent father play a role in this. This sets the tone for the rest of her arc. Staying committed to its “feel bad” vibe, Vaishnavi’s story is essentially an unbe’coming’ of age one. Baby’s twin themes of exceptionalism and identity meet at the moment when Anand, after hurling abuses at Vaishnavi, declares that her identity only comes from him loving her. That she is who she is, because he chose to love her out of all the other people he could have loved. Vaishnavi, responds a little while later, that he gets his arrogance because she loved him first. She follows this up with a “nuvvu mundhu preminche unte nen ninnu nelanu naakinche danini.” What a beautiful insult.
As much as Baby is about Vaishnavi, the film also belongs to Anand and his bookended grief, as its plays out like a flashback, a lengthy follow-up to the “modhati premaku maranam ledhu” (first love is immortal) hypothesis. Anand is introduced with a shot of his feet as a fly lingers around. He is drunk, visibly overwhelmed with memories. We first see Vaishnavi dancing away outside her basthi’s Ganesh pandal. Their high school love is all innocence, aptly punctuated by children singing the chorus of ‘O Rendu Prema Meghalila’. But alas, their innocence is only built to have it every last bit of it destroyed. Vaishnavi is the first to fall for Anand, he reciprocates it later. Vaishnavi, receiving a soap dabba as a gift, declares how she loves receiving gifts. These seemingly cute details are foreshadowed, weaponised even, for regrettable consequences and cruel pay-offs.
Baby is well aware of its own foreboding, so much so that Vaishnavi and Anand find themselves talking about feeling, and later failing to see bad omens come in their way. If Anand and Vaishnavi form the film’s more obvious love story, Baby’s tryst with tragedy is the film’s second, hidden love story. Viraj is the face and form of this story’s ugliness. Echoes of identity and exceptionalism find themselves in his story as well. Viraj is a rich guy who drives a Cooper to his college. Why would he like Vaishnavi, a basthi girl? But look at his introduction scene plays. Every girl is impressed by his looks, his wealth. Vaishnavi is not only different than all the other girls, but she is also indifferent to who he is on the outside. Much like Anand, this is the girl he chooses, to bequeath her a new identity, to be her only identity.
While Baby also portrays love as something special, something irreplaceable and magical in theory, the film succeeds in its ugly depiction of narcissism, pettiness and violence. The film is generating enough hate as I type this sentence, but there is a good reason for that. Not a single main character is good or right. Vaishnavi is undone by her fear, Anand is destroyed by his insecurity and Viraj, well, Viraj is the most nightmarish version of the nice guy/boy bestie trope. Imagine Revi from Love Today, but crazy manipulative instead of just stupid. There is also a laughably bad and infantilized class divide angle in the form of a character named Seetha thrown in. While it does not work on its own, it does its bit in pushing the story forward.
The film’s biggest shortcoming is in its direction. Its 177-minute-long runtime, consisting of scene after scene of theatre-style staging where the camera never moves and the dialogues never end does prove to be taxing to the viewer. For a story so haunting, its filmmaking is flat and tepid, wasting an opportunity to go from interesting to…well, exceptional. For now, and for a while, I shall continue to remain how the characters have been throughout the film. Confused. Like everybody else.
#odious #operatic #tragedy #errors #Cinema #express
